


when he was in bloom

by whiskerprince



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Consensual Biting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Eventual rating change, M/M, Oral Fixation, Soul Bond, chan is a vampire with morals, purring/humming, that feels gud, thats this fic but with chan, u know the sob story about unwanted animals left in cardboard boxes until someone takes them in, vampire!chan au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerprince/pseuds/whiskerprince
Summary: Newborns can’t survive on their own. And Woojin’s never raised a vampire.But he’s had worse odds.





	1. [first petal]

**Author's Note:**

> *foolishly attempts chaptered fic without any planning*

_But you_  
_You're on my side, on my side_  
_When second place is so familiar_  
_On my side, on my side_  
_So don't think twice, I'm going nowhere_  
_I'm going nowhere_  
**Second Place — Paper Route**

 

“I didn’t bring my umbrella.”

Woojin rubs away the raindrop that had splattered onto his nose and sticks his head back inside, closing the side door. Felix, changed out of his scrubs into a too-big leather jacket and jeans, pouts his lower lip at the angry clouds outside. He shifts his backpack further onto his shoulder and stares at the staff parking lot mournfully. The nearest metro station is at least a five minute walk away—a path Woojin, carless as well, knows by heart. If he had enough money for a car, Felix would never walk and metro home from work again.

Woojin’s own umbrella is in the stand at the door, long black handle poking up from between clear plastic sheets flecked with rainwater. One of the other umbrellas still has the CU sticker on it—a quick purchase by one of the other nurses or interns on the way to work. Woojin is still in his blue scrubs; hadn’t seen a point in changing into fresh clothes when the pavement was going to kick up dirty water onto his pant legs and his umbrella dripped right down the back of his neck. He makes an easy decision.

Picking up his umbrella, Woojin hands it to Felix. “That’s a new patch on your jacket, right?”

Felix’s hand shifts to his left breast. “You noticed?”

“I also noticed you sneaking into the stairwell during your rounds to call your boyfriend.”

Felix’s cheeks color. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he mumbles. Glances up. “Did you tell Sowoon?”

“Not this time,” Woojin says. He wiggles the umbrella in his hand. “Go on. You’re only young once. Before you know it you’ll be ugly like me and no one will want to call you during work just to hear your voice.”

“That sucks—I mean. You’re not ugly, hyung.” Felix’s smile splits his face, eyes crinkling prettily.

Woojin smacks him in the ass with the umbrella and Felix yelps.

“Okay, okay, I deserved that!” He takes the umbrella, then pauses. “What about you? We could share.”

Woojin shrugs. “Dump some powder soap on me and then I won’t need to put a load in the washer.” When Felix continues to hesitate, Woojin makes a shooing motion. “Get. I’m fine, seriously. You know it’s only big enough for one of us.”

Felix opens the side door. “Thank you hyung. I’ll see you Thursday?”

“1 AM on the dot,” Woojin says through a grimace. Felix returns the grimace, then slips out.

Woojin catches the door and continues to grimace at the sky. He wouldn’t mind waiting in the break room for half an hour or so if it was going to clear up, but the weather report had said rain all week and the app on Woojin’s phone just shows 60%, 70%, 80%. It’s going to be a cold, wet five stops to Chungmuro station, but it beats staying at the hospital a minute longer if he’s just going to end up wet either way. Woojin pours himself one last hot coffee in the break room, chugs it, and then prays to whatever god is listening that he doesn’t freeze to death.

The rain is heavy enough to be heard pattering on the sidewalk and each drop feels like a wet bullet against Woojin’s head and shoulders. He’s soaked through in under a minute, with four more to go. He maneuvers around the potholes in the concrete collecting water, misses the crosswalk signal, then decides after a few moments of being pelted that fuck it, good manners are for days when it’s _not_ pouring, and jogs across. He’s almost tempted to stop in at one of the shops along the way but he’s wet and smells like sick people and he stills needs these shopkeepers to feed him on not-wet days.

Woojin takes the stairs into the metro two at a time and shakes himself like a dog at the bottom, mentally apologizing to the pair of ahjummas giving him death glares as they open their own umbrellas and head on out. He taps his card at the gate, catches the 22:34 train, and then finally he’s on the orange line and heading home.

Chungmuro station isn’t pretty by any means and at night the streets have a bad vibe to them, but Woojin’s apartment is closer to the university and outside of the seedier parts of Jung-gu, so he’s never really worried about getting robbed. Most days, he doesn’t mind the hike from Chungmuro back home. But tonight, shivering and walking uphill, the rain getting heavier with each passing minute, he’s in no mood for it. The only thing on Woojin’s mind is _bath, bath, bath_.

He passes the movie theater, a Popeyes, and two dessert cafes, tucking his head down and gritting his teeth against the cold. He’s counting convenience stores (nine until he gets home), and somewhere between the fifth store and a café he hears a high, pathetic whine coming from an alleyway.

Woojin slows his steady trudging but doesn’t stop. The noise had sounded like something in pain, but it could have easily been metal creaking or a cat in heat. When he doesn’t hear the noise again, he puts it out of his mind.

Only to hear it again, this time longer and with a throaty gurgle at the end. A cold shiver rushes down Woojin’s spine and along his arms. There was a patient, once when he was working ER, who had had his throat sliced open in a freak construction accident. He gurgled like that. He didn’t make it.

Woojin turns on his heel and marches back down to the alleyway.

The sound came from the other side of the street. Woojin glances either way before ducking across. He wants to know how anyone hasn’t come investigating the noise yet, but then again, he hadn’t seen anyone outside since two turns ago and the whine wasn’t loud enough to penetrate through walls.

It’s a backroad but a real skinny one, probably only used for loading and offloading. Woojin can only see bags of trash piled along either side of the walls and an out of order vending machine. No person bleeding out, sprawled across the ground. Small mercies.

“Hello?” Woojin calls out, walking forward slowly. If it’s an animal, he doesn’t want to scare it, but if it’s a person they need to know he’s there. No answer.

“Hello?” Woojin calls out again. “I’m a trained nurse; I can help you.”

Still no reply. Woojin is maybe seven meters down the alleyway, but he’s still wet and if whatever it was making that noise isn’t going to show itself, then it probably doesn’t need his help anyway. _Damn horny cats…as if there wasn’t an overpopulation problem already_.

Woojin makes to turn around and comes face to face with a tiny bundle of person squeezed in tightly between two big bags of chicken bones and used paper towels. His heart stops for a moment, but then he sees how crumpled and shivering the person is and he calms down.

“Christ,” Woojin sighs. “You gave me a heart attack. You alright?”

The shivering bundle doesn’t reply. Their hair is long and curly, obscuring their face and dripping with water. They had probably been out in the rain for longer than Woojin. He frowns and reaches a hand out to take their shoulder. “Hey, are you—”

The person flinches back, pressing themselves to the wall and _hisses_. Actually fucking _hisses_. Woojin snatches his hand back but the hiss melts into another barely subdued whine. The person brings up their—pale, so fucking _pale_ , even in this light—hand and starts to chew on their fingers, the trembling much more pronounced now. Their other hand digs into their forearm and they curl their legs close to their chest.

“Alright,” Woojin says. “Alright, I won’t touch you. But you need to get out of this rain. There’s a café, right around the corner, I can buy you a coffee and you can sit inside and warm up a little. How does that sound?”

They don’t reply.

Woojin swallows. “You’re real pale. I don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you really need to get inside. I don’t know if you have a place to go, but please, just for now, let’s go inside. I’m really cold, too.” Still nothing.

“I’m not leaving until you get inside,” Woojin says, and _that_ grabs their attention.

“ _Why_ ,” they—he—says, voice barely a croak. “Go away. Don’t need your help.”

“You very much need _someone’s_ help,” Woojin says. “I just happen to be the one that found you.”

“I don’t want to be found,” he says. “I want to be left alone.”

“You’ll die.”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

“Unfortunately for you,” Woojin says. “I am very good at keeping people from dying.”

The man sucks in a breath and then immediately smacks both his hands over his nose and mouth and doubles over, then curls away from Woojin, trembling so bad Woojin can see his knees wobble.

“Please let me help you,” Woojin says.

“You need to go,” he says. “Go, just go, it—it’s not safe here—you need to—”

“I’m not going—”

 _Anywhere_ , is what Woojin tries to say, reaching out once more for the man. What he doesn’t expect is for the man to drop his hands and whip around, grabbing Woojin’s arm and _biting_ him.

“ _Ow?_ ” Woojin says, trying to pull his arm away to no avail. For a sickly little thing, the guy is _strong._ “What the hell—”

Almost as soon as Woojin starts tugging harder, the man seems to realize that he’s sinking his teeth into Woojin’s arm and drops him as if scalded.

“No,” he whimpers. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Woojin examines the wound in what little light there is in the alleyway. Most of the bite is angry red indents from his lower jaw, but on the upper side, there is a nick in his skin and a pinprick of blood, smeared by the next raindrop that falls on Woojin’s arm. It isn’t a severe wound at all, but there is a slight trail of blood from the nick, running light with rainwater.

“You got some teeth on you,” Woojin says. “Most bites don’t draw blood and trust me; I’ve worked the pediatric ward. We get a lot of bites.”

He looks back at the guy, back to clamping his hands over his face. Woojin can see the glint of his eyes under his bangs. Sad, wet eyes. “You’re really in trouble, aren’t you?” Woojin says.

“Just go,” the man says, voice muffled under his hands. “It’s better for everyone if I die.”

“We take in people like you every day,” Woojin says. “No one has to know who you are.”

“People like—god, I fucking hope not,” the guy says, a half-laugh. “Send me to the fucking hospital, sure, yeah. That’s a death sentence in itself; you think she wouldn’t kill me if I were to go to a _hospital?_ I’d be dead before you could call an ambulance.”

“You kill someone?” Woojin asks.

The man goes quiet. “No,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” Woojin says.

“A—pardon?”

Woojin rolls his eyes. “Your life is being threatened by someone who wants you to kill another person and your response is to lie in garbage until you die? Give me a break.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “It’s not like that—I have to—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Woojin says. “That’s the beauty of free will. So if you want to die, or kill someone, or whatever, you can do that. Fine. But not until you’re out of this rain and have stopped shivering.”

“I can’t move,” the man admits quietly. “I’m beyond half-starved. Please…just a few more hours and either I’ll die or she’ll put me out of my misery. Please.”

“There’s a Burger King right around the corner, I can—”

“ _Please_ ,” he sobs. “I can smell it on you. Please let me die without hurting someone.”

Woojin stills. “This?” he says, holding up his forearm. “It’s barely a scrape, look—”

And then the man lets out that same whine-sob-whimper and throws himself at Woojin, knocking him backwards and falling across his chest. Woojin tenses, ready to fight, but the man doesn’t attack him. He grabs Woojin’s arm, the cut, and pulls it towards his mouth. Woojin watches him latch onto his wrist, feels the slightest prickle of pain as he gnaws at the tiny cut to widen it, then sucks weakly at the wound, whimpering when only the slightest stream of blood comes out.

 _Is this some kind of joke?_ Woojin wants to ask. He watches for three heartbeats longer, waiting to see if this guy would spit Woojin’s blood out. Woojin’s bit his tongue before. He goes to the dentist. The coppery taste of blood in even small amounts is enough to make him nauseous. He waits for this stranger to have the same, human reaction.

But the man is so thin and so small. He weighs nothing on Woojin’s chest and even holding Woojin’s wrist, the earlier strength is nowhere to be found. He clutches helplessly at Woojin’s hand and with his other hand, scratches lightly at his forearm, almost pawing at him. He's alternating gnawing at Woojin's cut and lapping and sucking noisily at the wound. Woojin thinks about it.

_No. That’s the problem._

_I’m beyond half-starved_.

 _Please let me die without hurting anyone_.

Woojin pushes himself up and the stranger curls into his lap, chasing Woojin’s arm with a whine when he moves it too much. Woojin reaches out to his head, but pauses. Does he really want an answer? Does he really want _this_ answer? Is he prepared to deal with the consequences of being right? If he believes this man, he could push him off and he would die before morning. Woojin could pass this experience off as a fever dream. It would take a few months but the guilt would fade. He could move on with his life.

The stranger is crying.

Woojin knows, because the rain has slowed to a slight irritation and no longer drenching them. And yet, water continues to bead in the corner of this man’s eyes and fall down his cheeks. He’s squeezing them shut, but Woojin can see the tear trails and hear his wet sniffles.

 _He tried to warn me_.

These tears were Woojin’s fault. If nothing else, Woojin was responsible for the tears in this man’s eyes, and no matter what the answer was to the question Woojin didn’t want to ask, he at least owed this kind stranger the kindness of not letting him die in this stinking alleyway.

Woojin knots his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls him away from his arm. The stranger cries out like a kitten being tugged from its mother, and opens a bloody mouth to reveal twin pointed canines, no longer than a human’s canines, but sharpened to an unnatural point—too dull to cause trauma but sharp enough to break skin.

“Yeah,” Woojin says, letting the man go back to lapping at his arm. “Okay.”

Well, they never really taught Woojin how to deal with dying vampires in nursing school, but he imagines it can’t be that much different from a malnourished or dehydrated patient. First step is getting fluids into them, intravenously if they are…too weak to do it themselves or too far gone. This man is both.

“Okay,” Woojin says. “Okay, I can do this.”

He calls a taxi even this close to home because he’s pretty sure hauling this guy’s limp body to his apartment is going to get the cops called on him. Especially if the guy is trying to bite his wrist. The tough part, Woojin suspects, is going to be getting him to give up that wrist.

“Hey,” Woojin says. “What’s your name?”

The guy doesn’t look up at first, so Woojin tucks his hair behind his ear and thumbs at the tears in the corner of his eye. “Hey,” he prompts again in a soft voice, leaning in. “What’s your name, hm?”

The guy doesn’t look up immediately at this either, but Woojin can feel him detaching slowly from his arm. He leans away with trembling lips and doesn’t look at Woojin. “Chr—Chan,” he says. “I’m…Chan.”

“Just Chan?” Woojin asks.

He nods. “My clan name was…Bang. But that’s not my clan anymore.” His breath flutters against Woojin’s throbbing wrist. “Just Chan.”

“Okay,” Woojin says. “I called us a taxi, okay, Chan? No, no—don’t freak out.” Chan doesn’t relax from where he had flinched and tensed at ‘taxi’ so Woojin hurries to say, “Just to my place. No hospital. No police. No mystery person trying to kill you, and no you trying to kill anyone. Just a warm, dry apartment with too many books.”

“I don’t wanna go,” Chan says.

“You are…incredibly stubborn,” Woojin says. “But tough shit. You’re going. Better to die there when you’re warm and dry and unbothered than surrounded by trash and freezing to death.”

“Okay,” Chan agrees. “If I can die there, I’ll go.”

“Good,” Woojin says. “You can’t…in the taxi, you can’t—”

“I know.”

“Is that okay?”

Chan looks him in the eyes for the first time. “Why are you helping me?” he asks.

Woojin purses his lips in fake thoughtfulness. “I guess you’ll have to stay alive to find out.”

Chan’s shoulders slump and he kind of crumples into Woojin’s chest. “Ass,” he mumbles into Woojin’s scrubs.

He wasn’t lying about not being able to move, though. Chan puts all his weight against Woojin and his knees give out the first few times they try to stand up. He’s also _freezing_ , which is sucking the heat and energy from Woojin and making his teeth chatter. When he finally gets Chan to his feet and the taxi arrives, Woojin can only stumble-drag Chan to the alleyway entrance, hoping it comes off more as ‘my friend is so fucking wasted he can’t even see’ and not ‘I drugged this man and am taking him back to my lair.’

“I don’t drive gang members,” the cabby says stiffly when Woojin shoves Chan into the backseat. It’s bullshit, so Woojin ignores it and gives him the address.

“I don’t drive gang members,” the cabby says again.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Woojin asks. “He’s not a gang member; he’s about to fucking pass out. My apartment is literally two blocks from here, will you fucking drive?”

“He’s messed up,” the cabby says. “Ain’t seen anyone but gang members that—”

“I am a _motherfucking_ nurse,” Woojin says. “And I swear to _Jesus in heaven_ that if you do not drive this car to my apartment, I will _become_ a gang member, right here and now.”

The cabby grumbles but takes the address this time and Woojin pushes Chan’s hair out of his face. He’s back to chewing on his fingers, and now, in the light of the main street, Woojin can see how his fangs stick out a little more than the others. He’s trembling again. Woojin swallows.

The cabby overcharges them, but Woojin doesn’t care, just throws the bills at him and flips him off as soon as he’s hauled Chan out of the taxi. He drags Chan to the front of his apartment building, enters the code, drags him into the elevator, drags him off the elevator, punches in the code to his apartment and finally shuts and locks the door after setting Chan on the couch. Woojin double checks all three locks. When he turns around again, Chan has passed out.

“Right,” Woojin says, putting his hands on his hips. “Well, here goes nothing.”

 


	2. second petal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i post it before midnight it's still technically posted on tuesday

 

Felix  
  
Hey. Just called out of work for the rest of the week. If you want to stop by my place some time to drop off the umbrella that's fine just text me.  
  
HYUNG NO!!! what happened :(  
  
...I don't want to make you feel bad  
  
:( :( you got sick didn't you :( :(  
  
Yeah. But to be fair I don't think it's a cold. You know that outbreak of pneumonia?  
  
omg no  
hyung no  
i thought you were immune to everything  
  
Just unlucky I guess. I'll let you know when I'm heading back in.  
  
do you want me to pick you up some groceries?  
  
I...actually that would be amazing. Lots of fluids please.  
  
you're talking to the nurse of the month. i gotchu  
  
Lix, you're ALWAYS voted nurse of the month.  
  
i know hehe ^^  


 

Woojin manages to finish texting Felix before the dizziness starts to really get to him. He hangs his head between his legs and waits for the world to stop spinning. It’s not that bad—he’s only lost a pint and a half—but he’s still sluggish and staring at a bright phone screen isn’t doing any favors for his nausea. Woojin sits up once he swallows a few times. He uncaps the energy drink on the table next to him and sips at it as he surveys his kitchenette, covered in blood.

 _I’m not getting the deposit back on this place_ , Woojin thinks.

In his defense he’s pretty sure there’s no nurse out there who has siphoned blood directly out of their own arm and into an IV bag that they then set up as a drip into their very pale, very _pulseless_ patient in the comfort of their own home. Or discomfort. Woojin isn’t really comfortable seeing his blood drying and oxidizing on every linoleum surface and some fabric surfaces as well.

He’s also not sure if draining himself of his own vital fluids is actually going to help Chan, seeing as his heart isn’t beating (probably not Woojin’s fault) and he hasn’t woken after passing out on Woojin’s couch. Woojin has twelve tabs open onto vampire mythology on his laptop that he can barely read through his tired haze, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep before Chan wakes up. Partially because he’s Chan’s sole caretaker if anything goes wrong and partially because after skimming these websites, he’s not sure he should be asleep around a predator of which his species is the sole prey.

He supposes he could clean up the kitchen or something, but it’s actually kind of badass, having a kitchen splattered in blood. In some kind of sick way that Woojin would have appreciated more as a little kid. Also, if he tries to clean it all he’ll definitely pass out. He can’t read anything because he’s dizzy, can’t listen to anything because vampire, and can’t watch anything because he doesn’t own a television and he spilled wine on his laptop and broke the speakers.

He decides he’ll just stare at a wall or something until he figures something to do and doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

Woojin wakes to an onslaught of shaking that has him jolting upright. He startles Chan back a step and once Woojin assesses that no, he isn’t being attacked, he glances out the window to see the warm reds of—he looks at the clock on his stove— _seven in the evening?_

Woojin groans and leans back. “Fuck,” he says. He had finished with Chan around 8 AM…and promptly passed the fuck out for eleven hours. So much for staying awake and keeping an eye on his patient. At least Felix wouldn’t be over until eleven and Woojin has time for his brain to come online before he has to lie to his best friend. Oof, that does not feel good.

“What?” Woojin asks, because Chan is quivering like a leaf and staring at Woojin with huge, haunted eyes, his hands fisted in Woojin’s too-big grey wool sweater. Woojin doesn’t have time for games. He has a headache and he’s going to be recovering blood cells and slinking around his apartment sluggishly for the next few days and he’s not happy about it.

Chan’s throat bobs. “The…blood,” he says in a tiny voice. “It’s everywhere—I hurt you—I don’t remem…I’m sorry…I…”

Woojin looks at the kitchen, then at Chan. “What?” he says again, furrowing his eyebrows. “You attacked—dude, you passed out as soon as I put you on the couch.”

Chan’s shaking stills. “You mean I didn’t…? But there’s so much blood…”

Woojin makes a face at his nasty kitchen. It’s mostly on the counter, dripping down the laminate cabinet to the floor in a puddle that was dragged around by Woojin’s wet, socked feet and then soaking up in a dishrag, still discarded on the floor along with his socks. A few flecks on the sink and the sink knobs, and a handprint on one of the upper cabinets because Woojin hadn’t been thinking when he fumbled for the paper towels.

“There’s no sign of a struggle,” Woojin says. “Have you never seen _Dexter?_ _Criminal Minds?_ Any crime show where they analyze blood stains?”

“Blood makes me feel queasy,” Chan says.

“Wow...that’s rough, buddy,” Woojin says. “Anyway, there’s no splatter, just a puddle and a bunch tracked around the kitchen because I’ve never actually siphoned blood from _myself_ , you know. Usually it’s the patients getting stabbed, not me. And I know my veins are terrible.”

“Then I—” Chan starts.

“You laid there with your mouth hanging open and not breathing—which is freaky, by the way,” Woojin informs him. “I’m actually thrilled to see that my half-assed idea worked and that you’re still alive. Kind of.”

“Oh,” Chan says. “Yeah, I guess that’s kind of weird.”

There is an awkward pause.

“Do you want to help me clean the kitchen after I check you over?” Woojin asks.

“God, shit, yeah,” Chan says, dragging a hand back through his hair. “Yeah, of course I’ll help.”

Woojin sits Chan back on the couch. He’s through with the blood Woojin gave him, so Woojin pulls out the IV and wraps it up in a plastic supermarket bag, tossing it to the side. Chan tracks it with his eyes.

“How _did_ you manage to set up an IV?” Chan asks, gesturing to the pole Woojin had hung the bag of blood up on. “This stuff isn’t just lying around.”

“I’m a nurse,” Woojin deadpans. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of useless shit I’ve acquired, both from the hospital and from well-meaning friends and family members. Like, ‘you look at stethoscopes and gauze all day, Woojin, I bet I know what you’d like! More fucking stethoscopes and gauze.’”

Woojin pauses. “Also my best friend is a kleptomaniac. He occasionally swipes the good prescription shit from the geriatric ward but for the most part I get on his ass about only stealing redundant supplies that he then passes onto me like a little asshole.”

Chan blinks. “Your name is Woojin?”

“Oh, right,” Woojin says. “Yeah, Kim Woojin. Nice to meet you when we’re both dry and sane. You off your white knight suicidal complex?”

“Um.” Chan colors. Then shrugs.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry,” Woojin deadpans in a deep voice.

“Dude, shut up,” Chan groans, leaning back into the cushions. “Do you know how much I miss Snickers?”

“Just like, suck a diabetic off.”

Chan twists his face. “Oh my god. That is so fucked up on so many levels.”

“Excuse me for not knowing about the intricacies of vampire culture,” Woojin says. “I am but a mere mortal.”

Chan’s face falls a little. “Yeah, well. It’s better that way.”

Woojin knows a sign not to pry when he sees one. He goes to check Chan’s pulse on instinct and feels like a dumbass when he gets no reading. “How the fuck am I even supposed to tell if you’re healthy? Do you breathe? Salivate? Sweat? Shit? Sleep?”

“Uh,” Chan says.

“Answer all of those,” Woojin says. “In order.”

“Um, okay,” Chan says. “I do breathe…I guess? I have lungs. I don’t need to. Ji—I was told it helps to appear normal by keeping up the habit. And I need to in order to speak. But I don’t have to.”

“Right, speaking,” Woojin says. “But checking for pulse and breath…no good. Okay.”

“Salivate and sweat…um. I definitely salivate but I don’t…think I sweat. I’m not sure.”

“Okay…”

“I’m not answering the next one.”

Woojin throws his hands up. “Tell me if you shit! You drink only blood, how am I supposed to know if you piss or shit or both?”

“Woojin-ssi, please,” Chan whines. “C’mon man, this is so embarrassing.”

“I’m your nurse.”

“I never _asked_ you to be…”

“Tell me,” Woojin says, “or I’ll…cry.”

“You’ll cry,” Chan deadpans.

“Oh yeah,” Woojin says. “I’m a big crier. Lots of fake tears and wailing. You may be dead but I don’t think you’ll survive me throwing a tantrum.”

“Jesus, fine,” Chan grumbles. “Your bedside manner is terrible.”

“It is when I’m off the clock,” Woojin says. “Pay me if you want me to use my customer service voice on you.”

Chan sighs. “We don’t do either, really. Occasionally I’ll have to shit, but first my gut kind of hurts and then I’ll eat some bones and pass the waste from that and the blood as shit. There, you happy?”

“Wait, what?” Woojin says, alarmed. “You eat bones?” There hadn’t been anything about vampires eating bones on _mythopedia.org_.

“Yeah,” Chan says. “Extra and different nutrients to keep us strong. Need to eat ‘em once a week or so. Every two weeks at the very least.”

“That’s…terrifying.”

Chan shrugs. “I just picked through the dumpsters outside my favorite fried chicken place. At least I can still taste it.”

Oh. Not human bones. Woojin can breathe again.

“I’m supposed to be eating a human corpse once a month but I can’t do that.”

“What in the _fuck_ ,” Woojin says. “How were you going to get a human corpse? Pretty sure cemeteries are guarded from trespassers and a lot of people cremate…”

Chan smiles wryly. “Yeah, but fortunately there are ten million people living in Seoul.”

Right. Predator and prey dynamics. Picking at corpses had Woojin thinking vulture or hyena, but vampires weren’t scavengers.

“First year biology didn’t teach me much about vampires, sorry,” Woojin jokes.

“It’s okay,” Chan says. “I’ll die before I hurt a human.”

He says it in the same way he said _it’s better for everyone if I die_. And now Woojin starts to get it. A predator who refuses to hunt is a dead predator. And a vampire who hunts is a monster. It’s honorable, in some fucked up way that Woojin didn’t think starving one’s self could be honorable. But it also sucks and it’s balls. Woojin sees a lot of shitty, shitty situations and people that can’t be saved, so to write off this lively, kind man as a lost cause feels like he’s saying every difficult case that passes through the ER doors is doomed to die. And Woojin can’t accept that.

“You can eat animal bones, right?” Woojin asks. “What about animal blood?”

Chan nods. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been living off of so far. I was supposed to hunt a human with the—yeah. I was supposed to hunt a human. But I couldn’t do it. I threw up a lot.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you’re not telling me everything,” Woojin says. Chan flinches. “No, it’s okay. I’m still just a stranger. I’m just trying to come up with a treatment plan for you, Chan-ssi. That’s all.”

“Chan-ssi sounds weird,” Chan says softly. “You saved my life.”

“Chan-ah?” Woojin suggests.

Chan nods and smiles a little. His eyes crinkle slightly and he has a dimple on only one side that makes Woojin’s heart squeeze when Chan adds onto that, “Okay, hyung.”

“You’re okay then?” Woojin asks. “I have to rely on your judgment to start.”

Chan nods again. “I think so. I feel really rested and refreshed. I think…because that was my first human…um.”

“Oh,” Woojin says. “Oh.” And then, “ _Shit!_ ”

Woojin covers his mouth with both his hands. “Oh, god, I didn’t even think—are you—is that okay? I know you were dying but you’re like, a vampire vegan or something—”

“Yeah,” Chan says. “I, uh, didn’t want to bring it up because it’s kind of awkward—”

“—I totally broke your moral code—”

“—you couldn’t have known—”

“—ask about allergies and dietary restrictions, Woojin, that’s like day two of nursing school—”

“—I mean, I kind of went for your arm and everything—”

They look at each other and then Woojin starts smiling and Chan starts smiling and then they’re both covering their mouths and giggling and Woojin watches the full stretch of Chan’s smile deepen his dimple and scrunch his eyes into catlike half-moons. Woojin sees the tiny points of Chan’s fangs amongst bright white teeth as he lowers his hand. Mean little devils, those things were, but pretty. And attached to the sweetest vegan vampire Woojin could conceive. He hadn’t thought it before, but now, Woojin might just be able to fall asleep without fearing for his life tonight.

“Should we clean the kitchen?” Woojin asks, and Chan nods vigorously.

Woojin whips out the bleach for this job, along with two pairs of rubber gloves and some shitty scrubby brushes and sponges he saved for this exact occasion. Well. For a too-messy-to-recover-from situation. Although Woojin had imagined something like a period accident on his already shitty couch or Felix puking everywhere on New Year’s or having to clean up Felix’s boyfriend’s body if he dared to do Felix wrong.

Kidding about the last one. Kind of.

Chan winces at the smell of bleach and proceeds to whine about it the entire time they clean, which is how Woojin learns vampires have a superhuman sense of smell. He also cracks one of the tiles on the counter while trying to scrub Woojin’s blood out of the grout, which is how Woojin learns vampires have superhuman strength. And he dodges the bloodied paper towel Woojin tosses at him to make him squeal, which is how he learns about the reflexes.

Woojin thinks that when he inevitably gives in and becomes a vampire blogger, his first suggestion will be to have your acquired vampire deep clean your kitchen. It’s a quick and easy way to assess all their superhuman abilities _and_ it means you don’t have to do chores. People blog about their pets and eating weird shit, right? Woojin can write about his pet eating weird shit.

“Well,” Chan says, once they’ve rounded up all the paper towels and bloodied-beyond-saving cleaning tools and discarded the sweaty rubber gloves, “I really don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I hope this can be enough.”

Woojin waves a hand. “Don’t mind it.”

Chan kind of swings his arms and rocks back on his heels. “So…do you have my clothes?”

Woojin makes a face. “Are you kidding me? They smelled like piss and wet garbage. I threw them away immediately.”

“But I can’t take your clothing,” Chan says, pouting. “You’ve already been too kind to me.”

“You’re wearing my clothes right now,” Woojin points out. “Lost cause.”

“Yeah, but,” Chan insists, as Woojin gathers up the garbage bags.

“But nothing,” Woojin says. “Just help me with laundry and you can use my clothes. I practically live in scrubs anyway.”

“It’s a little late to be doing laundry, don’t you think?” Chan asks.

“What? Yeah. I mean when I next do laundry.”

“Um…so…you’re going to let me stay the night…?”

Woojin stops what he’s doing to look at Chan with furrowed brows. “Yes? Obviously? Where else were you going to stay?”

Chan clutches at Woojin’s sweater and looks gutted. Woojin stares at him for a moment longer, backtracks, and then realizes what he’d just implied. “Oh, fuck.”

“Hyung…” Chan says softly.

“No, that was really bad, I’m so sorry,” Woojin says. “That was so rude. Just—just seeing you out there on the street, I thought you had no one—”

“I don’t,” Chan says quickly. “I don’t, please, hyung, don’t make me beg—”

Woojin’s pulse quickens when he sees Chan’s shoulders tense and pull together. “You should go home, Chan-ah, I’m sorry that I said that to y—”

“Please,” Chan whimpers. “Please don’t kick me out.”

Tears bead in the corner of his eyes and Woojin feels hysterical. He has no idea why Chan is crying, other than Woojin implying he is homeless and friendless with nowhere to go, but now he’s just confused. He’s not sure if he should pull Chan into his arms or pat him on the back, so he just stands there with his palms out and says, “I…have no idea what is going on right now.”

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” Chan says, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand and not meeting Woojin’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s disgusting and scary, staying with a man-eater. You don’t have to let me stay the night.”

Woojin swallows. “Don’t you have somewhere to go? Someone who misses you?”

Chan shakes his head. “I can’t go back to my family or anyone I know. They think I’m dead.” He closes his eyes. “I can’t go back to…she abandoned me. I can’t go back there either. I don’t have anywhere.” He looks up at Woojin, eyes hollow. “I’ll die soon, but please, for tonight—”

“Stay,” Woojin says. Chan swallows.

“It’s okay,” Woojin says. “I’m not scared of you. And I’m not going to let you die. In fact—” And now, finally, Woojin knows what to do. “In fact, as your nurse, I’m ordering you to stay under my care and supervision. For your own health, both mental and physical. Until I’m sure that you kick this suicidal white knight complex and you’re strong and healthy for a dead person, you’re stuck with me. Tough.”

“Hyung…” Chan says.

“Don’t argue with your medical advisor,” Woojin says.

“Okay,” Chan says. He smiles faintly, but it’s better than that hollow look. “I’ll listen to hyungie.”

Woojin nods, satisfied. But— “Don’t call me ‘hyungie.’”

“I thought you liked it?”

“It’s gross.”

“So are you.”

“Wow. Real mature.”

“Seriously,” Chan says. “Thank you. I really…don’t know how I’m going to make it up to you yet. But I’ll find a way, I swear I will.”

“Start by doing the chores and cooking,” Woojin jokes.

“Okay.” Chan agrees without hesitation.

Woojin sputters. “Dude, don’t take my jokes seriously or I really will make you do it.”

“You saved my life once,” Chan says. “Or whatever this next life is. And you continue to save me. I’ll do anything you want me to.”

He looks so sincere when he says it, big grey doe eyes looking into Woojin’s with such intensity, it was as if he thought he could express the sincerity of his feelings with eye contact alone. His hands still fisted in Woojin’s sweater. Messy hair falling in his face.

As a kid, Woojin had always wanted a little brother he could bully the way his older brother bullied him. And as an adult, Woojin had always wanted a cat or some other animal that could fend for itself and be harassed into cuddles and entertaining Woojin when he was lonely. With Chan, he got a little of both.

“Hmm,” Woojin says, stroking his chin. “Well, I haven’t had a good blowjob in quite a while, so you could always—”

Chan pegs Woojin in the stomach with one of his shitty decorative pillows and it actually kind of hurts. “Shut _up!_ ” Chan says while laughing.

Woojin smiles. He’s cool. Chan’s pretty cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> text message code credit to [La_Temperanza](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722)


	3. [third petal]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know. 
> 
> not a MAJOR change, but i've updated my work skin. check the second chapter for the new way texts will be presented in this fic.

 

“You just…want me to leave the bags here?”

Felix’s voice is muffled through Woojin’s door. It’s not hard to play the exhausted, sickly part when an hour and a half of cleaning on top of blood loss has left Woojin wiped. He makes sure to let his voice fall into a rasp that breaks in places. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t want you catching this shit.”

Chan, sitting on Woojin’s couch with his legs drawn up to his chest, tilts his head to the side at Felix’s voice. He’s wise enough to the precarious nature of his situation to stay quiet.

Outside, Felix shuffles his feet. “I don’t know, hyung,” he says. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable leaving without looking you over. Have you seen a doctor yet?”

Curse Felix’s infallible instinct to care for and heal. “I’m going first thing tomorrow. I just want to rest tonight.”

“Not the hospital in Itaewon, right? They just got smacked with a class-action lawsuit for patient negligence.”

Woojin presses his forehead to the door. “No, not the one in Itaewon.” He wracks his brain for an adequate alibi. “There’s a small urgent care center a couple stops north of here. I was just going to stop in there.”

“You have pneumonia! You need to go to a hospital!”

“I do not.” Woojin jumps when he feels the tickle of breath on the back of his neck, the tops of his shoulders rippling with goosebumps. A glance over his shoulder shows Chan mouthing ‘sorry, sorry!’ He must have gotten up at some point but _damn_ , Woojin hadn’t heard him move at all. Chan hovers over Woojin’s shoulder, sniffing the air. “I, uh…” Woojin forces himself to focus. “I don’t want to crowd up the emergency room, especially when there are people who need more help than I do. You said it yourself; I never get sick. I’ll fight it off better than a kid or someone older.”

He hears Felix sigh noisily, giving in to his reasoning. “Are you _sure_ I can’t at least take your vitals?”

“No, Felix,” Woojin says. “You want to expose the entire nursing staff to this?”

Felix grumbles.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I start feeling better,” Woojin promises.

“You better,” Felix warns. “And I’ll be coming by to pick up my grocery bags. And to replenish your produce. Call me if you need anything. Get better…or else. Love you. Goodbye.” He stomps off in what is definitely a huff. Woojin will not be hearing the end of this.

“Who’s that?” Chan asks.

“That,” Woojin says, “is my best friend, and also the most aggressively loving human on the planet.”

“He smells nice,” Chan says. “Soapy and clean.”

“His boyfriend is really into self-care,” Woojin says. “Saved Felix from living like a disgusting bachelor, who in turn fixed me.”

“Hm…you could still use some work.”

Woojin shoots him a grin. “Wow, you’re a little bastard when you’re feeling better.”

Chan shrugs, coy.

“Alright,” Woojin says. “Let’s see if my boy pulled through.” He opens the door to two fabric grocery bags and a third freezer bag, all stacked to the top with produce and soup mixes and health drinks. “Bless you, Felix,” Woojin sighs with a smile. He grabs two of the bags, Chan picking up the third and closing the door behind him.

Woojin sorts through the groceries while Chan watches, leaning his hip against the counter and mapping where everything goes. “This’ll keep us set for a while,” Woojin says as he unpacks. “I took the rest of the week off of work to recover from the blood loss and also to get you settled. What’s most important is getting you set up in an environment that will help you recover.” Woojin looks at Chan. “You’ll take my bed.”

As expected, Chan opens his mouth to protest immediately. “I can’t—”

“Yes, yes you can,” Woojin interrupts him. “And you’re going to. Sleeping on that couch isn’t going to hurt my back any more than it’s already damaged. You’re my patient.”

“You’re hurt too,” Chan points out sulkily.

“All I have to do is sleep and grow blood cells,” Woojin says. “I have _no_ idea what’s wrong with you, so you take priority. If it makes you feel better, I will nap in my bed when you’re awake.”

Chan looks put out, but accepts the compromise with a nod.

“Now,” Woojin says, kicking the freezer door closed. “We have another order of business.” He pats Chan on the shoulder as he passes, and Chan trails after him to the little kitchen table. Woojin flips open the notepad on the table and uncaps a pen. They both sit down.

“I understand there are things you aren’t comfortable discussing with me,” Woojin says. Chan’s eyes fall to his hands, folded on the table, and his lips curl downwards. “But I need to know the basics. You need blood and you need bones—that’s all I know. I read up on vampire mythos while you were sleeping; everything from Nosferatu to _Twilight_ , okay? There’s a lot of conflicting material. I need in on the ‘need to know’ stuff.”

“Okay,” Chan says. “I don’t know everything, but I can tell you what I do know.”

No breath, no pulse, limited bodily functions—Woojin knew that. To Chan’s knowledge, however, other than those oddities, the vampiric body worked much like the human body, only deriving the necessary nutrients from blood and bone as opposed to traditional food. He needed sleep. He wasn’t weak to garlic—that myth had surfaced from a human who evaded predation by hiding in a spice shed and disguising their scent. They had coincidentally been behind a curtain of garlic that made the vampire recoil at the strong scent, hence the story. Seeds did not distract them; they did not need to be invited in. More wishful thinking. Chan would also be fine wandering outside in the daytime.

“It’s easier to hunt at night,” Chan explains. “You can hide in shadows and stuff. Less people around. Cover of night also hides our fangs and eyes and skin. It’s just more practical, so we became nocturnal.”

“That…actually makes perfect sense,” Woojin says.

Of course they had the heightened senses, superhuman strength, agility, reflexes. The vulnerability to blessed items and weapons was true. They were not so strong that they were invulnerable to weapons that were not blessed, but blessed weapons made their skin melt and greatly retarded their healing ability. Only machine guns or other vampires would be powerful enough to cause severe damage. The myth of stakes had come from stakes made of the wood of churches or crosses that marked graves—both blessed objects.

Woojin didn’t ask for the specifics of vampire vulnerability but Chan tells him anyway. He supposes this is Chan’s way of coming to him with his palms held open and head bowed. Vampires were incredible monsters, but Chan would not live under Woojin’s roof without evening the playing field. Woojin has no intention of using any of this knowledge against his patient, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

“What about that stuff about turning into bats?” Woojin asks. “That’s got to be crazy talk, right?”

To his surprise, Chan looks away from him, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t know anything about that,” he says quietly. “I was not told.”

Woojin is deathly curious, but he has already committed to not pushing up against Chan’s walls. He moves on. “Okay, then final topic—diet. I order fried chicken fairly regularly; would the bones of one chicken, once a week meet your requirements?”

Chan meets his eyes again and nods.

“Now, the blood…”

“No human blood,” Chan says quickly.

“Right,” Woojin says. “How often do you need to refill the tank?”

Chan hums. “I was draining animals every other day before you found me, but that’s because they’re not as nutritious as humans. I’ll probably be set for a little under a week with the transfusion, but after that it’ll have to be a full meal every other day…”

“So, a lot of blood,” Woojin surmises.

“Um,” Chan says. “Yeah.”

A lot of blood. Woojin taps the pen against his cheek. He’s actually glad that Chan doesn’t take human blood—Woojin isn’t sure he could sneak blood away from the hospital that frequently. Nor does he want to, considering the shortage of blood for transfusions. But that still leaves the question of where to get a few gallons of blood every week.

“Where the hell did you get so much blood from in the first place?” Woojin asks.

“We were provided animals to practice hunting,” Chan says hesitantly.

Woojin doesn’t know who has that kind of money or the connections to procure live animals for Chan and possible others every other day for as long as Chan has been a vampire. He has a sneaking suspicion that they have significantly more wealth and power than an ER nurse being paid minimum. He will have to go about this the peasant way.

“Well, Chan-ah,” Woojin says, “looks like we’re going shopping tomorrow, so get some sleep. This is bound to be…interesting.”

 

\---XXX---

 

Woojin has seen plenty of trash daytime television growing up. There’s the good stuff, the variety shows, and then there’s the programs of _wardrobe makeovers_ and _interventions_ and now with era of Netflix, _Tidying Up with Marie Kondo_ and _Queer Eye_. And yes, maybe he is begrudgingly drawn to a well-executed before-and-after cinematic shot. But now Woojin thinks he’s really starting to understand why Tan does what he does. Dressing Chan—well, it’s just kind of _fun_.

Chan is up before Woojin, and he wakes to the smell of his temperamental coffee maker come to life and coughed out some sludge that is being wafted beneath his nose in a mug stamped with his hospital’s logo. Surprisingly, when he puts his mouth to the tar-like lifeblood, it is neither tar-like nor does it taste like an ashtray. Woojin manages to pull his eyes open enough to eye the soft brown of the coffee, tempered with milk and sugar and tasting like…coffee. He slurps at it, perplexed.

“I didn’t know the old girl still had it in her,” Woojin rasps.

“With a little bit of tough love, everything works,” Chan says, settling next to Woojin. “The coffee grounds you had opened were like…hardened together…”

“Yeah,” Woojin says. “I just kind of chip at ‘em.”

“How are you alive?” Chan cries. “Anyway, since that thought would never occur to _normal_ people, I threw that shit out and opened a package I found at the back of your pantry. You’re welcome.”

He ends his story by flopping against Woojin’s side petulantly, hugging a pillow to his chest. Eyes finally open and in the light streaming through Woojin’s sliding glass balcony door, he realizes just how pale Chan is. His skin isn’t the same warm tones of humans, light as they may be, but an ashen color with dark veins visible through his almost paper-thin skin. Not the same blue and purple of Woojin’s veins. Chan’s were black all the way through. And when he picks at his teeth, lip curled, the length and points of his canines are just unnatural enough to notice.

So, Woojin gets to play dress up.

Chan is already freezing to the touch and doesn’t seem to mind the hoard of sweaters and coats Woojin unearths from his closet. He throws black pants and boots at Chan, then fishes out an orangey-brown turtleneck and stuffs that into his arms as well, along with a beige overcoat.

“Put all this on,” Woojin orders, grabbing his own day clothes and shuffling out of his bedroom.

Once they are both dressed, Woojin helps Chan pull gloves on and hook a black facemask over his ears. He considers slapping a beanie on Chan. Or a cap. Something to draw attention away from his grey eyes, more silvery now that he’s looking perky.

“Am I human-passing yet?” Chan jokes from behind his mask, eyes crinkling into sleepy half-moons.

His cheeks are still too pale, but Woojin fluffs Chan’s dark bangs into his face to cover his forehead and hide his eyes better. He really should throw a hat of some kind on Chan.

But at the same time, Chan looks—dare he say it—fashionable. The heavy coat hides how malnourished his body is, but Chan’s face has a very elegant, almost European structure to it. He looks foreign and well-to-do, like an actor from LA or something. The mask covers full lips and a strong nose, only the bridge of it and the angular shape of his face visible. And yet, Woojin can tell he’s handsome.

“How does he do it?” Woojin wonders aloud with mock-awe. “Is it designer? Is it makeup? Or is it…the undead?”

Chan rolls his eyes good-naturedly, clearly smiling beneath the mask.

“You look good,” Woojin says. “I would really like to milk my fashion sense for a few more minutes, but honestly I think you’re just handsome.”

“Aw,” Chan says. “Thank you.”

“Death looks good on you, Chan-ah.”

“Ah, well,” Chan says, shrugging one shoulder and winking. “If only you had seen me when I was alive.”

“Alright,” Woojin says. “I’ll put an end to this flirting. We have a whole district to terrorize.” He slips his own mask on and pulls a baseball cap snugly on his head. “Let’s knock ‘em dead. Hopefully not literally.”

Woojin’s instincts tell him a bigger shopping center is a better bet for not getting caught. The center he’s most familiar with is a district over, which means longer on the subway. He’s not thrilled about pressing in with strangers with Chan in tow, but they don’t exactly have a choice. He’s surprised when Chan pulls out his own T-money card, then feels a pang of guilt. It’s not like Chan is thousands of years old or anything. He was human once, too. It’s perfectly natural for him to have a card and knowledge of the Seoul subway system. Wait.

“Hold on,” Woojin says, stopping Chan once they pass through the gates. “How old are you anyway?”

“Huh? Oh,” Chan says. “I was born in ’97.”

Woojin hesitates. “…1997?”

“Yes,” Chan says, laughing. “Do I really look a hundred years old to you?”

“Just checking, just checking,” Woojin says, holding his hands up. “In that case, you can drop the ‘hyung’—we’re the same age.”

“Really?” Chan’s eyes light up. “But you seem so competent…and mature…”

“That’s just you who isn’t, babe,” Woojin says.

“Hey!” Chan protests.

Woojin hooks an arm through his and pulls him along. “Come on, Chan-ah. No use crying over it now.”

“Whatever you say, _Woojin-ah_ ,” Chan sniffs. “…Hyung. Woojin-ah-hyung. That’s your name now.”

“If you insist, Channie-ah.”

“ _Ugh_.”

They get caught in the morning rush and pressed against the door of the subway car, but Woojin finds that this is more preferable than he had expected. Everyone keeps their eyes on their phones and this early, there are only two pairs of tourists ogling the commuters. Woojin presses Chan’s back against the wall and boxes him in, keeping him hidden in case someone decides to get curious.

He wants to apologize to Chan for the close quarters, but Chan doesn’t seem bothered. He leans his head against Woojin’s arm and smiles at him with his eyes. Woojin wonders if this is part of some vampire lore Chan is keeping secret from him. Are all vampires so naturally charming? This is still, technically, a predator and prey relationship, but Woojin feels relaxed as if he’s known Chan for years. He supposes it’s the skinship and helplessness throwing him off. He resolves to be more wary of Chan, but for the moment, cramped together on the green line, Woojin allows his hip to brush Chan’s without concern.

They make one transfer and hop off at the stop directly beneath the shopping center. The two basement levels above the subway are the grocery stores and market, so Woojin and Chan ride the escalator up one floor and start hunting for…whatever the hell it is they’re going to feed Chan with.

“Can you smell anything appetizing?” Woojin asks doubtfully.

Chan tugs his mask down to uncover his nose, sniffing quietly at the air. He recoils almost immediately, hissing.

“What? What?” Woojin asks.

“So much,” Chan complains, tugging the mask back over his nose. “Too many scents. Everything smells weird or plastic or dead and rotting. Or human.” He shuffles his feet. “The humans smell nice.”

“That won’t do,” Woojin says. “Maybe if we get closer to the meat?”

Chan nods. Woojin takes the corner of his elbow to guide him, and Chan obediently stays glued to his side as they make their way towards the deli.

Chan seems more interested when they reach the packaged meats. They have everything from ground beef to whole hunks of pork leg—there _has_ to be something Chan can eat here. Woojin looks at the prices and flinches, but Chan is sniffing the air again, picking up a steak to smell the packaging. He wrinkles his nose even as he sniffs harder at it.

“Well?” Woojin asks.

“It’s dead,” Chan says softly. “It’s been dead for a long time, and there are all sorts of chemicals in it.”

“No good?”

Chan gives it one more sniff, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ll be sick if I eat that. Even if we blended it up and strained the blood out, it would be hardly enough to consider a meal. I don’t have the money to buy four of these a week and I don’t think you do either.”

“You’d be correct,” Woojin admits. He sighs. Chan leans against him and sighs as well. “Can you eat fish?” Woojin wonders aloud.

Chan shakes his head sadly. “The further away from plain old blood it is, the sicker I’ll be.”

“I just don’t know where we’re going to find wholesale animal blood,” Woojin says. “It’s not like they just stock bagged animal blood in supermarkets.”

“Wait,” Chan says. “They might.”

Woojin looks at him.

“Blood sausage soup,” Chan explains. “That calls for pork blood, doesn’t it? They have to sell it _somewhere_.”

Woojin slaps himself on the forehead. “Of course,” he groans. “I was overthinking it. There’s plenty of _frozen_ blood packaged for cooking.” He ruffles Chan’s hair. “Maybe you’re not so helpless, eh?”

Chan growls softly and it’s actually a little frightening when paired with narrowed, silvery eyes. Woojin gets a little thrill down his spine. He lets his hand slide down to cup the back of Chan’s neck and Chan stops growling. “You’re really a top predator, aren’t you?” Woojin muses. “You could kill everyone in this store on your own if you wanted to, couldn’t you?”

Chan’s eyes fall to his feet. “I wouldn’t,” he says.

“It’s kind of hot,” Woojin says.

He can feel warmth rising to Chan’s neck and the tips of his ears go a little maroon (so there _was_ color to him!). “You’re a horrible flirt,” Chan grumbles. “Let a guy breathe.”

“Sorry,” Woojin says, withdrawing his hand and grinning, not at all sorry. “You’re so easily flustered. The dichotomy between what you are physically and what you are emotionally is really sweet—I don’t mean that in a flirtatious way. It’s just refreshing. You’re like Felix, before he started getting good at roasting me.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome!” Woojin says cheerfully. “On to frozen blood!”

Fortunately, Chan’s hunch is right and in the frozen section of the grocery are pints of both cow blood and pork blood. They’re not cheap either, but it’s better than the hunks of meat with little to them. At least these would sustain Chan for a couple weeks and weren’t so hard to come by in closer supermarkets. Of course, they look a little odd rolling up to the cashier with only cartons of blood, but Woojin counts on the apathy of cashiers to work in his favor.

“You know,” she says, “if you need _that_ much blood, you can just buy blood meal from the gardening department up one floor.”

Woojin and Chan exchange glances.

As promised, when they make their way up a floor, the gardening corner of the marketplace sells three-kilo bags of blood meal for a much more affordable cost than the meat or the blood. Delighted, Woojin picks up two and they head back down the escalators to the subway home.

“This is much better,” Woojin says. “If we add water, they should rehydrate and provide a great way to extend the frozen blood.”

Chan eyes the blood meal bags skeptically. “I don’t know,” he says. “They still smell a little off.”

Woojin claps him on the back. “Vegans can’t be choosers, man. But we’ll find a way to make it palatable. I don’t want your afterlife to suck any more than it has to.” He pauses. “Ha, suck.”

“Reconsidering my stance on human blood as we speak,” Chan says dryly.

They warm up a couple chunks of the frozen pork blood in one pot and rehydrate and heat a few hefty spoonfuls of the blood meal in another pot. Chan is definitely more inclined to the smell of the pork blood, but once the blood meal rehydrates and simmers a little, he seems less put off by it. Once they’re nice and warm, Chan does a taste test. As expected, the pork blood is a hit. Chan laps at the spoon and Woojin laughs.

“Greedy,” he teases warmly. “Didn’t I just pump you full of my blood yesterday?”

Chan rumbles in his throat. “It’s yummy though…”

Woojin sighs and allows him a few more greedy spoonfuls. It’s a little unnerving to watch Chan feed—even though the blood is there, liquid and accessible, Chan still bares his teeth when he slurps at the blood, teeth clacking against the metal of the spoon. With his lips pulled away from his canines and his teeth tinged red with blood, he’s intimidating. He rumbles in his throat with every sip, too. It seems almost unconscious, the noises and the teeth clattering.

“Alright,” Woojin says. “I know you’re not thrilled about it, but at least _try_ the blood meal.”

Chan wrinkles his nose but obediently dips his spoon in the pot and sips at the blood. He licks his lips and flicks his tongue over his teeth, considering. “…It’s not awful,” he relents. “Not especially tasty. Kind of flat in flavor and a dusty texture in my mouth. But I think you’re right—it could be mixed with the frozen blood and I could tolerate it.”

“Oh, thank god,” Woojin sighs. “We have a way to feed your apparently voracious appetite.”

Chan withdraws his spoon where he had been trying to sneak it back into the pork blood pot. He looks at Woojin with round eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Woojin says. “You’re skinny enough as it is. I like seeing you with an appetite. But drink _both_ of them.”

Woojin heats up another cup of coffee while Chan mixes the blood pots together, sniffing appreciatively at the steam rising from the pot. As the coffee starts to drip into Woojin’s mug, the smell of fresh coffee mixes with the smell of warm blood in the air. The result? Slightly unnerving. But not so bad that it bothers Woojin. Chan pour the mixture of bloods into his own mug, one that says ‘DONATE’ in all caps around its circumference, that Woojin had gotten the last time he gave blood. The curl of Chan’s lips as he takes a sip from the mug shows that he understands the irony. He holds Woojin’s eyes as he drinks.

 _Who’s the flirt now?_ Woojin thinks but doesn’t voice aloud. He’s pleased that Chan feels comfortable enough to be playful with him. It means he’s on the mend. Woojin lifts up his coffee cup and they click their cups together. Woojin can drink to that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> updates tuesdays. 
> 
> find me on twitter [@whiskerprince](https://twitter.com/whiskerprince)


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